The Police by Miranda Kenneally

“I just can’t accept that,” Savannah replies from the other end of the line. Her voice shakes.

“It’s just a plane ticket. You can share my villa with me,” I reply, softly drumming piano keys with my right hand.

“It’s too much money, and what about Garrett?”

“Savannah, we’re just friends. He knows that – he won’t care.”

“But I do.”

“Okay. Fine,” I reply, purposely sighing loudly into the receiver. “You’re missing out on some awesome virgin mixed drinks and a perfect white sand beach, though.”

“I’ll save my money so I can come with you next time, okay?”

I roll my eyes. She’s got plenty of money; she’s just scared to spend it thanks to how she grew up.

“S, I make millions of dollars a year. I can afford a $500 coach plane ticket for you,” I say, but it doesn’t matter. She never accepts anything I offer unless it’s a gift for a special occasion or a holiday. And it’s getting to where she won’t even accept those gifts. I mean, I thought the Steinway piano I gave her for President’s Day was quite thoughtful, but she made me return it. I don’t think Garrett appreciated it much, either.

I think he knows I want his girlfriend.

But it’s not like I’d ever seriously try to take her. She loves him, and he loves her, and they’re my best friends, and why would I risk messing that up? And hell, if I messed things up with them, Dave and Jill would probably stop talking to me, too.

They’re all I’ve got.

Well, besides my uncle and my manager and my voice coach.

“It’s cool,” I tell Savannah. “Listen, if you change your mind, just call me and I’ll get you a ticket. Okay?”

“Okay. I miss you. And so does Casper.”

“I’ll be home next week. I miss y’all too.” I love you, too.

“Bye, Jess.”

“Bye, S,” I reply, and hang up the phone, and stretch out on the piano bench. God. I must be the only superstar on the planet who goes on vacation to a nearly-deserted island in the Caribbean with his gay uncle and gay manager who are gay together (which basically means I’m alone), and therefore is more bored than a guy who’s been in prison for half a century.

God, I’m lonely.

It’s like my heart’s in prison.

I thought about inviting Sheridan Stratford, who I haven’t seen since I was sixteen – four years ago, but then I realized how damned desperate that would be. And then I thought about Sheridan’s friend Nora, and wondered if I could get them both to come down here, but how could I explain that to my uncle and my manager? Uncle Bob, I’d like you to meet Sheridan, who I lost my virginity to, and Nora, her dominatrix, who I had a bunch of sex with a couple years ago in New York. Now if you’ll excuse us while I host the Sexcapades in my villa...

Then there’s my ex, Emily. No way in hell would she come on vacation with me – not since I accidentally said Savannah’s name while in bed with her six months ago. Emily wiggled out from beneath me, stood up, put on her clothes, and never returned any of my calls. It’s like I stepped on unexploded ordnance in a minefield. And boy did she blow up big time.

I knock the back of my head against the piano bench and stare up and out the window at the cloudy blue sky. Eighty degrees, no humidity, a perfect late-May day in the Caribbean. I can hear birds chirping and boat horns tooting and wind whipping through the palm trees, and I can smell the salty water, but I can’t relax at all. I unbutton my orange-flowered swim trunks and slip them down my tan legs, kicking them to the floor, then reach down inside my boxer briefs and begin slowly moving my hand up and down, thinking of Savannah while firmly gripping myself.

I replay the time she came over to watch a movie – Beauty and the Beast – and we got into a fight over the remote control because she wanted to hear that awful “Be Our Guest” song again, and we started tickling and wrestling each other on the floor. My hands grazed her perfect C-cup breasts accidentally, and I ended up pinning her to the floor in a rather, um, not-so-friendly position. It was a pretty-much-sexual position, and she coughed loudly and squirmed out from under me.

“Don’t tell Garrett about this,” she said, and then we went back to watching the movie in silence, each of us sitting at either end of my leather couch.

Just thinking of her breasts is enough to get me over the top, and I come with a soft shudder into my hand. After I go clean up in the bathroom, I begin playing “Cavatina” on the piano until a knock sounds on the door.

“Just a sec,” I call out, and stand up and pull my orange-flowered swim trunks back on over my boxer briefs, and head over to the door.

I open it to find my manager, Brad, and Uncle Bob standing there also wearing swim trunks, carrying towels and bags full of magazines and sun screen, looking positively domestic. This is their first vacation together as a couple. Their relationship doesn’t bother me, but I try not to think about what they’re doing in their own villa down the beach.

“Ready for the beach?” Brad asks.

“Sure,” I say, grabbing my sunglasses, iPhone, songbook, and the ’87 acoustic Fender I brought with me. It’s a great guitar, but not so special I’d worry if I got sand in the sound hole.

“Why don’t you take a break and relax?” Uncle Bob asks, gesturing at my guitar case and songbook.

“This is relaxing for me,” I reply, patting my case, and then we take off down to our private beach. Well, almost private beach. We’re renting two villas on an island where only about five other renters are staying. There’s a bar and a restaurant on the beach, and they deliver food right to our villas if we want.

I know this because I ate a salad alone last night while Uncle Bob and Brad had some sort of romantic rendezvous dinner involving champagne and strawberries on their patio. Sipping Cabernet Sauvignon, I stared at the water, so clear I could see the ocean floor, and decided right then and there I wanted Savannah with me. So I called her this morning and that obviously went horribly.

So now what?

The three of us take our seats under the umbrellas the cabana guys set up for us, and then a waiter hustles up to get our drink orders. I ask for an iced tea, while Uncle Bob and Brad go for pomegranate margaritas.

I pull my iPhone out of my pocket and send Savannah a quick text: “I’m sorry if I upset you. You mean a lot to me.”

I stare at the clear water while Brad and Uncle Bob build a sandcastle together (good God), and wait until my phone chimes. A text back from Savannah says, “No big deal. You mean everything to me.”

And that makes me smile and relax a bit.

I open my song book, get my guitar situated in my lap, and begin scribbling out some lyrics, testing them out against a few transitions I invent on the spot.

That’s when the waiter approaches carrying our drinks. He hands the margaritas to my uncle and manager, and then gives me my iced tea. I find a little pink umbrella in the glass; a tiny sheet of paper has been speared by the wooden toothpick.

I pull the umbrella out and twiddle it between my fingers as I take a sip of tea, ignoring the tiny sheet of paper. People always do this to me at restaurants. A note from a busboy will somehow find its way onto the little tray with the check and mints; a waitress will interrupt five minutes of my meal, begging me to listen to her song; a manager will come over to thank me for “dining with us,” and then will go on and on about how great his daughter sings.

I keep fingering the umbrella, and down half my glass of tea before curiosity, and major boredom, get the best of me. I wedge my tea glass down in the sand and open the sheet of paper. It reads: “Jesse Scott, would you smile already? You’re on vacation! Signed, The Happiness Police.”

I laugh and smile. Whoever sent the note also drew a little clown, and it’s not bad. I’m no artist, but whoever drew this is.

I turn around to see who might’ve sent it, but the beach is empty.

I sink back into my beach chair, continuing to smile.

“Got a love letter from a fan?” Uncle Bob asks as he smoothes the side of his sand bridge, which stretches across a little moat he built.

“No,” I reply, and go back to my tea.

“Then what is it?” Uncle Bob asks.

“It’s private correspondence.”

“Private correspondence,” Brad says, shaking his head, smirking.

“He means it’s a love letter,” Uncle Bob says, and then he and Brad kiss quickly, and I roll my eyes.

This must be the weirdest vacation anybody’s ever had.

Soon the three of us trudge up the beach to the restaurant, where we sit on the deck. We’re the only people here, and soft jazz music is playing over the loudspeakers, and the waves are crashing down below us.

I take a deep breath, inhaling the salty air and urging my body to relax. Relax. Relax. Relax. Think about nothing, Jesse.

I order the lobster, because it’s vacation, and because I can. Then I excuse myself to go inside to the bathroom to wash my hands.

I’m walking through the restaurant when I see her. The bartender.

She’s younger than me, with long black hair, white skin – who has white skin like that at the beach? – and freckles dot her face and arms. The freckles remind me of Savannah, of course, and I feel sadness flow through me like the water in Uncle Bob’s sandcastle moat.

The bartender’s wearing a black bikini top and a purple sarong is wrapped around her waist. She’s not terribly hot, but she’s not terribly plain either. Her blue eyes have a certain Je ne sais quoi, a certain “I’m smarter than most people” feel to them.

When she sees me, her ghostly white skin goes red like the top layer of a rainbow.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Scott,” she says. “May I get you anything?”

“Bathroom this way?” I ask, pointing toward the sign that says, “Restroom.”

“You got it,” she says, and focuses on the counter, wiping it down with a cloth.

I like it when people don’t make a big deal out of me. That’s probably why I like Savannah so much. She’s never once tried to get anything out of me, nothing except happiness, which I’ll gladly give her.

I go into the bathroom and pee, then wash my hands. My iPhone rings while I’m staring at myself in the mirror, dragging my fingers through my floppy brown hair.

I check the caller ID. Garrett.

“Yo,” I say.

“Hey. Just calling to let you know we got your quarterly royalty check from Rêve. $3.7 million. I deposited it into your main account, then I transferred $1.3 million into ten of your accounts, I put $950,000 into the Agape fund, $600,000 is in payroll, and the rest is in your NASDAQ.”

“Thanks, man. How’d you get so good at money anyway?”

“My dad. We can just see numbers. Probably like you see music notes and melodies everywhere.”

“True,” I say, walking out of the bathroom, stopping at the bar for another drink. “With those skills, at least you’ll be able to take good care of Savannah, eh?”

Garrett laughs. “I hope so. Every day I look at her and can’t believe I have her. I don’t deserve a girl like her.”

We hang up, and I try not to think about him going to Savannah’s apartment – the one she shares with Dave and Jill – to make love to her tonight. He’s a great guy, really he is – probably the best friend I’ve ever had, and I can’t even be happy for him, because he has the goddess I need.

The bartender sets the wine glass she’s polishing down and comes over to me. “What can I get you, Mr. Scott?”

“I’ll take a gin and tonic. Tanqueray.”

“Good choice.” She quickly makes my drink, throwing a lime in it, and then she stirs it and hands it to me with a napkin. “Have a wonderful afternoon, Mr. Scott.”

She doesn’t smile at me until after I give her a smirk, and I’m wondering why this young girl is so poised and polite around me. Good manners? I open my wallet for a tip and pull out a $100 bill and slide it toward her.

“Thanks for the drink,” I say, and her eyes grow wide at the sight of the bill. It’s probably the biggest tip she’s ever gotten.

I carry my gin and tonic back out to the deck and slip into my seat between Uncle Bob and Brad.

“Thought you’d gotten lost,” Uncle Bob says, patting my cheek.

“I thought you’d gotten waylaid by your secret admirer,” Brad says.

I wave a hand at both of them. I quickly tell Brad about the royalty check, and he smiles.

“You could spend the rest of your life on this beach if you want to,” Brad says, lifting his glass to toast. “To Jesse.”

I lift my glass to them and say, “To Uncle Bob and Brad. To young love,” which makes them laugh.

Soon my lobster comes, and when I lift it up to break it open, I find a $100 bill hiding beneath a claw. Smiling, I unfold the bill to find she drew designs – hearts, pinwheels, flowers – all over it, and she put little antennae on Benjamin Franklin’s head, making him look like an alien.

It’s so ridiculous and silly, but I’m laughing at it. No one ever does stuff like this to me, nobody but Savannah and Jill. I pull my Sharpie out of my pocket – I never go anywhere without it. I flip the $100 bill over and write, “Here’s a tip: This was a tip, you’re supposed to keep it. Signed, The Tip Police.”

“Why are you defacing money, son?” Uncle Bob asks as he cuts his tenderloin.

“I’m not defacing it. I’m writing a note.”

“A love letter?” Brad asks, snorting with laughter.

“No.”

“Then what is it?” Uncle Bob asks as he chews.

“Private correspondence.”

We finish eating, chatting about the weather and the beach, and when the waiter comes back, I give him the $100 bill and ask him to deliver it to the bartender.

When Uncle Bob and Brad hear that, they both make excuses to go use the bathroom and head inside, obviously to check out the bartender.

A few minutes later, they come back outside carrying fresh pomegranate margaritas, shaking their heads.

“She doesn’t seem like your type, Jess,” Brad says.

“Seems a little dull,” Uncle Bob adds, sipping his drink. “Tried to make conversation and she barely mumbled two words.”

I shrug and go back to texting with Savannah. We’re chatting about how her audition for The Sound of Music at the Tennessee Performing Arts Center went yesterday.

“Want to go back down to the water?” Brad asks.

“Sure, let me go pee again,” I say, and head back inside. Now the bartender is slicing a lime. When she sees me, she turns all red again, like the lobster I just ate, and tries to hide a smile.

I lean across the counter toward her, scanning her body. She’s thin, but not like the groupies who usually come backstage at my shows: her breasts are round and perky, and she’s got a set of hips on her.

“Are you really a happiness police officer?” I ask her.

“Obviously. Are you really a tip police officer?”

I lift my sunglasses and push them back on my head. “Obviously... What’re you doing?”

“Slicing limes.”

“What’s your name?”

“Jane.”

She looks Plain Jane, but those eyes say she’s anything but.

“What’s your name?” she asks, biting her lips together, like she’s trying not to laugh at her own joke.

“He only gave me $100 for a gin and tonic.” She fake whimpers. It’s kind of adorable.

“I’ll hunt him down and arrest him.”

“What will his punishment be?”

“I dunno.” I pause. “What do you think it should be?”

“When you find the guy, you’ve gotta hand him over to me, the happiness police.”

I push my wrists together, as if they’re handcuffed, and lean across the counter toward her. “Found the perp. Now what?”

She’s blows out a puff of air, and finds my eyes. “I’m taking you to jail. As soon as my shift’s over.” She glances at the clock.

How does such a plain, pasty white girl have so much confidence? And why is this little act making my heart thump like a bass drum?

“When’s your shift over?” I ask.

“Two hours.”

“Let me talk to your manager. Maybe he’ll let you go early.”

She starts wiping the counter down with a rag. “No can do. Manager’s my grandpa. He owns this island and he can kick me right off it and back to the mainland.”

I take a step back. No wonder she’s so confident, and not interested in my fame (I think). She’s used to being around rich people all the time. Hell, she must be rich as fuck if her grandpa owns this place. I still can’t believe how much Brad and I are paying for this trip.

“Okay, so where do I meet you to go to jail?” I ask her, smirking.

She picks up a cocktail napkin. It’s covered in doodles and designs. “Follow this map. I’ll meet you here…” She points at an X “…At 4:00 p.m.”

“And what if I escape?” I ask her, leaning close to her face.

She leans closer to me. “Guess I’ll have to track you down and arrest you. And double your punishment.”

A shiver pulses up my arms and back. “See you at 4:00 p.m… Jane?” What a boring name.

“I lied. My name’s Drew.”

“Why’d you lie?” I ask with a laugh.

“To see if you’d call me Plain Jane.”

Nearly two hours later, I pick up my song book, and hand my guitar to a cabana guy to carry it back to my villa.

“Where are you going?” Uncle Bob asks in a playful tone.

“Off to meet the bartender?” Brad asks.

“Nah,” I say. “Just going to take a walk around the island and see if I can get some inspiration for my new song.”

“Have fun,” Brad says, and he and Uncle Bob go back to reading a science magazine together, sneaking quick kisses. I swear.

WEIRDEST VACATION EVER.

Following the hand-drawn map on the cocktail napkin, I set off into the trees – a jungle, really. I pass the old shack that’s drawn on the napkin, then take a left at the cluster of palm trees in the clearing, and soon find myself in front of a lagoon with a waterfall.

It’s gorgeous, and all I can hear are a few birds and the sound of rushing water. It’s a beautiful melody. I pull my wallet and iPhone out of my pockets and slip my flip flops off, then dive in. I come up for air, shaking the warm fresh water out of my hair.

That’s when Drew comes walking out of the jungle and appears in front of me, only wearing that tiny black bikini and sandals. She slips them off, then slinks into the water with me.

“Trying. I’m hoping to go to the Rhode Island School of Design this fall.”

“Good school.”

“Yup. And what are you up to? Just on vacation?”

“Yup. My manager said I needed a break.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t bring Savannah with you,” she says, and I feel my breath catch in my throat.

“How do you know about her?”

“Duh. She’s QueenQueen.”

“Oh yeah. Sometimes I forget that Savannah’s famous, too.” Though, why, I couldn’t tell you. Her band made it to the final four of Wannabe Rocker last year, and she has a gazillion Twitter followers, and we co-own The Agape Center together. She’s been on the cover of a few magazines, notably – Entertainment Weekly, and Time named her one of the most 100 influential teens in America this year.

“Nope,” I say, letting my body float to the top of the water. “Just gossip.”

“Who’s Casper?”

I smirk at her. “My cat. Were you eavesdropping on my phone call?”

“Um, obviously. And you’re under arrest; this is an inquisition.”

“Oh. I see,” I say, laughing. She twirls around in the water, and then floats on her back next to me. Her long black hair fans out. So black, I can see hints of blue in it. It’s like a butterfly’s wing.

“Well, what else do you wanna know, then?” I ask her.

“You having a nice time on vacation so far?”

“The island’s beautiful, but I’m pretty bored.”

“It’s hard to go from moving at a million miles an hour to inching along like a turtle, right?”

“You understand?”

“Sure,” she says. “I came here to work for the summer because I needed to take a break. I’ve been studying design at Parsons in New York, you know, the design school?”

“That’s cool. You’re a really good artist. Based on what I’ve seen on napkins, and little slips of paper, and $100 bills.”

She chuckles, and then stops floating and stands up. “Want to slide down the waterfall with me?”

“Oh hell yeah.”

Soon I find myself at the top of the waterfall with her. We sit down, push off, and soon we’re sliding down these silky rocks into the clear pool below. We scream as we hit the water, and I pull myself up to the surface.

She wipes the black hair away from her face, and the water droplets on her face glisten like diamonds.

“I thought you weren’t into swimming. Based on the boating thing that happened a few years ago.”

I laugh. “Nobody’s ever gonna forget that.” I walk closer to Drew and then dunk her under the water, flirting. Seeing how she reacts to me.

“You bring all your grandfather’s guests to your little waterfall spot? What are you? Some kind of vacation succubus?” I tease.

“Nah.” She rests her hands on my shoulders, and I wonder just what the hell I’m doing here. Sure, she’s funny and smart as a whip, and I like her body, but I try not to hook up randomly. Hell, I haven’t even slept with anybody since Emily walked out on me six months ago.

“How long have you been working here?” I ask her.

“For about a month. Parsons’ semester ended at the end of April. And you’re the first young guest we’ve had,” she says with a laugh. “Everybody else is a hedge fund manager, or owns a football team. Or whatever.”

I dig my fingertips and thumbs into her hipbones, and she swallows.

“You get it on with any of those hedge fund managers, Drew?”

She shakes her head, and her eyelashes flutter. Little drops of water gleam in her lashes.

“You ever get it on with bartenders during your vacations?” she asks, and I feel myself getting hard. I wrap her legs around my waist, pulling her chest to mine.

“Nope. But I’ve never been arrested by the happiness police, either.”

She bounces against my penis, and I let out a tiny moan, a six-months-since-I’ve-gotten-laid moan.

Her pale white face blooms pink. “Oh, sorry.” She unhooks her arms from around my neck and treads water, moving away from me.

“No big deal,” I say, swallowing. What the hell just happened?

She twirls in the water, to face me. “Um, this happiness police officer isn’t as experienced as the tip police officer.”

I smile. “How do you know I’m experienced?”

“Come on. You’re 20, right? And a big star.”

“What are you? 18? 19?”

“18… and a virgin.” She peers down into the clear water.

“Hey, that’s cool.” God, even I can hear the disappointment in my voice. I thought I was about to have hot sex in a lagoon.

So that’s how I find myself sitting on my villa’s patio with Drew in a milky blue dusk that’s fading to sherbet colors. We’re playing Blackjack.

“Hit me,” she says, and I deal her a four.

“Hit me,” she says, and I add a five to her four and her nine.

“Nice,” I say.

“I’ll stay,” she replies.

I deal myself a Queen, then an Ace. “Awesome,” I say, glancing up at her and smiling. “Blackjack!”

“Jesse! You totally stacked the deck!” She smacks my hand.

“Did not.” I laugh.

“I’m calling the deck-stacking police on you.”

“I hope you do. I hope the deck-stacking police officer won’t leave me hanging high and dry in a lagoon.”

She bursts out giggling.

I pour us each another glass of wine, and then I pop a popcorn shrimp into my mouth. Normally I don’t eat fried foods, but hell, it’s vacation.

“Another hand?” I ask before shuffling the cards.

She stands and walks over to the balcony, to stare out at the pink-and-orange dusk hanging over the blue sea. The sun sits still on the horizon, bobbing there in the evening sky.

I’m more interested in the view of her body. She’s still in that tiny black bikini, taunting me.

I take a quick sip of wine, set the cards down, and then go join her to stare at the scenic view. Her long black hair flutters in my face, as the wind jostles it around.

“Are you mad at me?” she asks.

“For what?”

“Leaving you high and dry in a lagoon.”

I laugh. “Nah. It’s cool. I’ve had fun, you know, just talking and playing cards.”

“You’re a nice guy, Jesse.”

“I try.” I reach behind me and grab my glass for another sip of wine. “What I should do is place you under arrest.”

“For what?” she blurts, laughing.

“Multiple infractions. Taunting me in that tiny little black bathing suit, leaving me high and dry in a lagoon, and then turning out to be a virgin.”

“You’re placing me under arrest cause I’m a virgin?” She lifts an eyebrow. “It’s not necessarily a crime.”

That’s when she squeezes between me and the balcony. My chest is against her back, and she kind of shoves her butt up against my crotch. I set my wine glass on the railing.

“See,” I say, leaning over to whisper in her ear. I feel her shudder. “I don’t know if I believe you’re a virgin.”

“What makes you say that?”

“You lied about your name. And you’ve been rubbing up against me practically all day long. Totally un-virginlike behavior.”

“I guess you’ll have to investigate, Officer Scott.”

And that puts me over the edge. I reach to grab her breast, squeezing it gently, and she groans. She turns to face me, and I kiss her hard on the mouth. She’s damned sexy, not Plain Jane at all. Her lips are soft and warm and moist. Perfect.

She pushes me back inside my villa, which is probably a good thing – I’d rather Uncle Bob and Brad not see me stripping a girl’s bathing suit off.

Drew unbuttons my swim trunks and pushes them down, and I unhook her bikini top, cupping her breasts with my hands.

“Well?” she asks.

“I’m still investigating,” I tell her. “You may be a virgin, you might not.”

I fall down onto the couch and pull her into my lap. I can’t wait to get out of these boxers and get rid of the rest of her bathing suit, but I take my time kissing her mouth and her nipples, nibbling on each of them.

She’s panting and groaning, so I push her bathing suit to the side, and slip a finger inside her. She’s warm and wet; I wonder if she’s been wet ever since the lagoon. I know I’ve been hard.

“You feel real good,” I tell her. “Sexy.”

She bites on my lower lip, then slowly starts inching her way down to my boxer briefs. She reaches inside and pulls me out, then drags her mouth up and down my shaft until I’ve completely lost my breath.

“That’s enough,” I say, not wanting her to go down on me, and soon I find myself stripping her bottoms off and beginning to lick her up and down. She tastes damned good, and I slip two fingers deep inside her.

“Well?” she says, panting.

“I still can’t tell. There are decidedly virginlike and un-virginlike qualities to you.”

I keep licking her, and then I suck softly on her clitoris until she comes with a loud shudder, panting. It took less than a minute to get her off.

“Virgin,” I say, resting my forehead on her thigh.

“How do you know?”

“Shouldn’t be that easy to get you off. Your body’s not used to it, huh?”

She bites her lips together, and then slowly shakes her head, and runs her fingers through my hair.

“Can I get you off?” she whispers.

I shake my head. “I’m more into it if I’m pleasuring you at the same time.”

“But you’re my prisoner.”

I laugh. “Oh really?”

She stands and walks to the bedroom, completely naked, and I hop to my feet and follow her. Drew gets herself situated on the bed, and I can’t get over how hot her body is. Damn.

“I want to get you off,” she says.

I shake my head as I go to lie down next to her. “Your first time should be more meaningful than me.”

She nods slowly, but then we start kissing again, and I slip three fingers inside her, getting her nice and loose. I bet she’ll come again any second, which’ll make me happy.

She gasps, and I grind against her, still wearing my boxer briefs. Hell, I feel like I may come just from grinding. What am I? 14 again?

Drew reaches up and pushes my underwear down.

“We shouldn’t,” I tell her.

“Why not?”

“I don’t know if I can stop.”

“I don’t want you to stop.”

I feel my eyes growing wide.

“You must’ve had sex with virgins before, right?”

I stare down at her, focusing on those freckles. Freckles, freckles, freckles. Then I nod slowly. “A few.” Somewhere around nine virgins. I never saw any of them again, either. God, I was such as asshole when I was younger.

I can’t even remember all their names.

Will I remember Drew’s name?

Maybe, but probably only because she lied about it.

There’s only one name that means anything to me. Savannah.

Savannah, Savannah, Savannah.

“I can’t,” I tell Drew, pulling away from her. “Wanna play another round of Blackjack?”

She looks like she might cry.

“That’s it,” I tell her. “I’m placing you under arrest.”

“For what?” she says, her voice wobbling.

“For acting too serious. Come on, now.” I reach a hand out to her, and pull her up from the bed. I go grab my orange-flowered swim trunks. I’m still rock hard; I probably should go jerk off in the bathroom, but instead I help Drew find her bathing suit.

Soon we’re sitting back at the table on the patio, me dealing cards, her sipping wine and staring at the ocean, tears in her eyes.

“You know,” I say. “I’m here for another week. Let’s get to know each other a little better, okay?”

That makes her smile. “Okay.”

I shuffle the cards again, trying to ignore how badly I need to get off, and then my phone rings. Savannah.

“Yo,” I answer, smiling.

“Hey, guess what, Jess? I got the role in The Sound of Musical! I’m playing Liesl!”

“Congratulations! I’m so proud of you! I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Savannah replies.

Drew looks over at me, a tiny resigned smile on her face.

“So how are you celebrating?” I ask Savannah.

“Well… Garrett wants me to come down to stay with you for the week. He says I need a break.”

And my heart stops beating inside my chest. “What? Really?”

“Yep.”

“He’s coming too, right?”

“If that’s okay…”

“Of course it’s okay. I can’t wait to see y’all.” I’ll take Savannah in any way, shape or form. Even if she brings her lover, my accountant, with her.

“We’ll fly down first thing tomorrow, then.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Drew stand up and slip her sandals on. “Great. I’ve made a friend down here. I can’t wait for you to meet her.”

Drew stops and swivels to face me, smiling. I quickly stand to stop her from leaving my villa.

Savannah laughs. “Awesome. I see the relationship classes I’ve been giving you are paying off. How’d you meet her?”